


Initiation

by bunniewabbit



Category: Green Street (2005), Green Street Hooligans
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-16
Updated: 2005-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-13 06:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunniewabbit/pseuds/bunniewabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the unexpected things Matt had encountered in his time in the UK, this was by far the most unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Initiation

 

The rest of the firm had vanished around the corner on their way to the pub, their whoops and laughter still echoing through the crisp, cold darkness, but growing fainter. Matt and Pete trailed after them swapping war stories, exchanging the occasional, good-natured jab to the shoulder with knuckles bruised and caked with the remains of drying blood. Adrenaline still burned in Matt's veins like the crackling heat of some illicit drug; he felt wild, free, _powerful_.

A couple of matches back -- Matt wasn't sure exactly when -- Pete had stopped pulling guys off him when they got into it with another firm, and Matt put everything he had into every punch, every kick, eager to show that he could hold his own and do his part for the firm and the team, his pride fueling his need to show that he was worthy of Pete's confidence in him.

Now, as he walked -- maybe even _swaggered_ down the dark street, the night air cooling the sticky, still-wet smear of blood that ran in a gory stream down the length of his face, he didn't care that there was a dull pain in his ribs that was probably blossoming purple on his skin at that very moment. The sharp sting of his knee, his throbbing cheekbone, the ache of his hands -- all of it just didn't matter. He looked up at Pete and grinned. There was a smudge of blood by Pete's ear and his eye socket was beginning to darken. Pete's lower lip was lopsided, swollen on one side beneath a cut that made Matt poke his tongue out to prod at his own similar wound, to feel the stinging stretch and taste the heat of the raw, damaged flesh.

Pete flashed him a toothy smile and Matt's laughter bubbled up through his chest and spilled from his mouth; head thrown back, arms flung wide, he crowed his delight to the cloud-covered heavens. “FUCK! I feel fucking great!”

“So do I, mate. So do I,” Pete laughed, swinging his arm up and dropping it across Matt's shoulders, the weight of it feeling to Matt like approval and acceptance. And belonging.

Their sudden swing to the left and into the shadow of a building caught Matt off guard, the adrenaline making his stomach lurch as the fight-or-flight instinct kicked in again. His back met the bricks with a muffled thump, half knocking the air out of him, and after a second spent trying to orient himself, he found himself blinking stupidly down at the blond stubble of Pete's hair. “What--?” he began, but bit it off, because it was completely, mind-bogglingly obvious what Pete was doing, crouched in front of him, one hand yanking Matt's shirttail out of the way while his other was busy on the button of Matt's jeans. His mouth hanging open, Matt just watched for a moment (maybe that kick to the head did more damage than he thought) before his brain panicked and screamed _No!_ But what came out of his mouth was a shaky, “Wait...”

Pete tilted his head up just far enough to reveal a wicked grin as he looked at Matt from under his eyebrows before returning his attention to Matt's fly. Matt's panic deepened; what if this was another test of some sort? And would he be failing if he let Pete continue? Or if he stopped him? As Pete pulled Matt's zipper down, abject fear overrode Matt's internal debate and he made a grab at Pete's hands, his “Pete... wait!” a humiliating near squeak. Pete looked up, expression inscrutable, and froze for a moment before surging upward, a blur of features, and Matt instinctively threw his arms up in front of his face, warding off the blow he was certain was coming.

All too easily, Pete caught a wrist in each large hand, tugging Matt's arms aside and pinning them to the bricks on each side of his head. Pete's grip was firm, tight enough that Matt knew it was useless to fight against it, but that didn't stop him from struggling briefly, twisting his wrists futilely inside the too-long denim sleeves that bunched up and bit roughly into his skin within the confining circles of Pete's hands.

“Hey.” It wasn't the word itself that caused Matt to suddenly still and look up into Pete's face, so much as it was the tone of it. It wasn't angry, which is what Matt would have expected. And it didn't sound amused or derisive, which would have been the logical second and third possibilities. It wasn't even especially loud. It was low and smooth and got Matt's full attention, so that his eyes were riveted to Pete's face in time to see Pete's small, sideways smile as his lips formed the words, “It's just me.”

And then those lips descended, cutting short Matt's open-mouthed gasp as they covered his own. Too stunned to do anything but stand there, practically _underneath_ Pete, he noted almost clinically that Pete's lips were cold, damp and chilled as they moved against his own. But that was before Pete's tongue and its wet warmth pushing against Matt's lips, which opened without thought, accepting the insistent slide of it into his mouth where it turned to scalding heat, caressing and coaxing, and Matt only realized he was kissing back when Pete suddenly released his arms. He groped until he found Pete's jacket sleeves where his fingers clutched desperately at the fabric, trying to find some sort of anchor while Matt's world tilted madly, in spite of (or maybe because of) the fact that Pete's arms had wound solidly around him.

This didn't feel like a test, anymore. This felt like the heat of summer and trysts with the neighbor girl behind the shed, impatient hands and the excitement of exploration, the taste of stolen kisses, heady and rich and forbidden. The chill of the evening melted away as Matt's insides turned molten as sun-warmed honey. This felt like _sex_. There was nothing soft or hesitant about _this_ sex, though; not with Pete's knee shoving its way between Matt's thighs, Pete's kiss turning almost predatory, pushing harder, leaving Matt gasping and torn between pushing back and surrendering completely. His head was bent back almost painfully and still he strained farther, opening for more more more and hearing the pinched, needy little sound that came from the back of his own throat as Pete delved deeper, pulling Matt even tighter to him. Then the kiss turned shallow, small licks and flashes of teeth, biting blindly at each others lips. When they crushed their mouths together again, Matt tasted the tang of blood, sharp, alive and thoroughly intoxicating. Pete's hand moved down to his ass and tugged, arching Matt's back as his hips moved forward, forcing him to pull away from the kiss with a shocked gasp as he realized just what it was that was pressing, hard and unrelenting, into his hip.

Pete's eyes looked unfathomably dark hovering over him, but Matt held his gaze even as he felt Pete's hand move between them and down to where Matt was also undeniably and completely hard. His eyelids only fluttered for a moment when Pete squeezed, but he forced them back open as Pete murmured, “All right?” Matt found it hard to think, couldn't quite figure out how he'd gotten here, couldn't even begin to conceive of ramifications and consequences, but looking up into the face of his friend, a face sharply etched with desire even in shadow, he realized that he'd already made his decision. With his heart hammering a crazed tattoo, all Matt could manage was a wide-eyed nod, and suddenly Pete was slithering back down to his spot at Matt's feet.

With trembling hands, Matt grabbed the waistband of his jeans and pushed as Pete nodded his approval and hooked his fingers into Matt's boxers, pulling them out and down, letting Matt's erection bob free. Matt hissed in a breath as the cold air hit his blood-engorged cock, muttered an ardent “fuck...” as Pete closed his long, sweat-dampened fingers around it.

Matt let his head fall back against the bricks; he couldn't watch, didn't dare. He braced himself, his breath shuddering out of his lungs when Pete, without preamble, took him whole into his mouth, his tongue wrapping Matt in sleek heat as he slid forward once, twice, and then pulled back, letting Matt's cock slide from between his lips. Clutching vainly at the rough wall behind him, Matt groaned softly as the cold air prickled along his length. Then Pete was back, his mouth hotter, slicker, and completely ruthless, pushing forward onto Matt's cock until it bumped the back of Pete's throat. Matt gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to arch forward, push into the lush sheath of Pete's mouth.

He focused on the edge of a pool of lamplight on the far side of the street, watched it blur and stretch as Pete fell into a slow, determined rhythm punctuated with uneven, staccato bursts of fierce stroking with his fist. It was wicked, maddening, and Matt knew he wasn't going to last. Clamping his eyes shut only made it worse, all his senses converging on the loud, wet sucking, his universe narrowing to the inexorable pull that began with his cock and radiated all the way out to his fingertips.

As his thigh muscles began to tremble and shake, Matt pried his eyelids open and risked a glance downward before it was too late and the chance was gone, maybe forever. He took in the top of Pete's head as it bobbed back and forth, but it was indistinct, blurry. He put out a hand, his palm grazing the close-shorn blond hair, and Pete hummed, the vibration traveling up Matt's cock and straight to his tightening balls, and suddenly the scene snapped into sharp focus: Matt watched, fascinated, as his cock disappeared into and out of Pete's glistening-wet, dark red lips. His breath was burning in his throat as he saw Pete pause and slip his middle finger into his mouth, watched it emerge again, slick with saliva, and then as Pete swallowed him down again he felt the finger graze damply along the crevice of his ass. Matt gasped and bucked forward into Pete's mouth, his fingers scrabbling frenetically, uselessly, at Pete's velvet-covered scalp, when without warning, Pete's finger pushed inside him, and it was so filthy, so _wrong_ , and so _utterly perfect_... Matt flung his head back against the wall with a yowl, the impact scattering stars behind his eyelids as he came violently, pulsing hot, white heat down Pete's throat, his breath trapped in his chest and great spasms wracking the taut length of his body.

Matt slumped against the wall, Pete saving him from an uncomfortable slide down the bricks by pressing his free hand against Matt's hipbone. Matt's breath returned with a shuddering sigh and an involuntary sound, almost a sob, escaped his lips as Pete withdrew his finger and let Matt's softening cock slip free. Wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist, Pete looked up expectantly.

Matt blinked and felt a syrupy smile settle into place. “Holy shit.”

Pete just grinned and rose to his feet, digging in his pocket and producing a pack of cigarettes. He knocked two free from the package, placing one between Matt's lips before lighting one for himself. Reaching over with the lighter, he held the flickering flame to the end of Matt's cigarette and Matt took a long, grateful drag on it before fumbling his clothes back together.

Looking up, he caught Pete still watching him, and Matt grinned lopsidedly and then froze, his smile wavering as his gaze dropped to the obvious bulge in the front of Pete's jeans. _Oh._ His brain racing, Matt's eyes traveled slowly back up and met Pete's, managing somehow to not flinch even though Matt knew he must look like that kid in school who was always seconds away from getting beaten up for his lunch money. That humiliating thought was confirmed for him when Pete threw his head back, roaring, the laughter booming out of him before he managed to get control of himself, doubling over with his hands on his knees as the last chuckles left him. Matt watched sheepishly as Pete looked at him, grinning hugely, eyes twinkling by streetlight.

“It's okay, mate,” he said, straightening and sucking on the end of his cigarette. “You can owe me. Right now, there's a pint with my name on it, and you're buying.” He turned back toward the light, heading down the street. Matt frowned, suddenly uncertain whether to be relieved or disappointed as he watched Pete's retreating back, but then Pete spun around, never losing his forward momentum, toothy smirk intact, and called back with his finger pointed right between Matt's eyes, “But you'll still fucking owe me!”

Laughing, Matt trotted to catch up with Pete, shaking his head in bemusement; to his considerable surprise, he found that it was a debt that he was actually looking forward to repaying.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


End file.
